Besides, I've done some cyber stalking on my phone and see that Noah's posted something about the milkshakes being good tonight. Would be better, he writes, if I had some company to share one with. I pull into the gravel parking lot and try not to stare at the faces there. If I do, I'm bound to find one that I recognize and I don't think I can handle anymore than this right now. You do what you need to do, Never, and I'll be here waiting for you when you're done. I squeeze my eyes closed against tears and smoke a quick cigarette before getting out of the car. Sometimes they leave and they don't come back; sometimes that perfect, little butterfly gets out of the jar and flies away, flickers like a bit of fire across the sky and disappears. If you love it, you'll let it go. That's what they always say, but they Never tell you how to deal with the pain of their leaving. I remember Noah Scott leaving me with this not so cryptic message, and the days and weeks after that that I cried for him.
